THIS IS PSYCHOSIS.

IAMX have been one of my favourite bands for at least half a year now, and sometimes I have a strange sort of love/hate relationship with Chris Corner's music. The first of their CDs I bought was "Kingdom of Welcome Addiction", which I was surprised to find in a HMV store in the summer, and after I bought it and went through that newlywed phase you go through after buying an album you know will be big for you.
It was probably one of the most confusing spans of forty eight hours I've ever experienced.
Some of the songs on it I loved ("My Secret Friend", "Kingdom of Welcome Addiction", "Think of England", "The Great Shipwreck of Life", "Tear Garden"... in fact, the majoritory) but some just made me annoyed, and disappointed at how little they had to offer me.
Because there is this thing that, amoungst different other things, pretty much all IAMX songs are about, and it's hard to explain. You know that feeling, that horrible dragging down inside your head, a quiet and pessimistic understanding that there's no escape, that they're all idiotic, right-wing fuckwits who're uncapable of thinking for themselves. It's also boredom, more than anything else, and anger. But in some ways I think that's the fuel behind every song, and maybe that's a good thing, because it's good for a band to have an overall attitude, but sometimes to me it seems tired and it seems like whining, and I feel angry that someone of such musical talent puts every ounce of it into this.
I like it a lot, and it works for him, but I'd like something different every once in a while.
I was excited when they announced a new album this spring, mainly just because it could mean I get to go see them, and was even more excited back in October, when some songs from the new album they'd played in Prague were up on Youtube. They border on cabaret music, and a lot of people were angry that they seem to be slipping away from their old style. The electronica of "Kiss & Swallow" was most definitely lost. Honestly, I didn't feel like I minded that much, because in my opinion, most of the times bands and artists have evolved and changed dramatically, it's been for the best.
At some point a few weeks ago, I came home to see it all over Twitter that IAMX's new single, a song called "Ghosts of Utopia", would be debuting on Czechoslovakian radio that night. I couldn't hear it: I went out somewhere and couldn't get the internet where I was, but as soon as I was home I went on to Youtube, and luckily a few people had posted the song.
Here it is. Listen and read.
I knew within about twenty seconds that I was disappointed, and it grew inside me until after playing "Ghosts of Utopia" twice, I was in a state of anger and I turned my computer off, because everyone else seemed to like the song and I couldn't understand, and I was mad at one of my favourite bands for not being awesome when I needed them to be.
It was like listening to "Kiss & Swallow" again, back to the start, except the lesser songs, the ones you could count as album fillers. It was so electronic and shallow, and I couldn't find anything in it at all.
The next day I tried again when I got home from school, and I found I could hear better, somehow. Once the chorus was in my head and it was familiar, it started to grow on me and I started to feel better.
And then I thought about it for a while: of course the new album won't all be like this. I think maybe they chose to release this one, which was techy (is that a word?) and electro and slightly less traditional, just to prove something after the Prague show. Hopefully, the new album has a little of everything, and everyone who likes IAMX can take from it what they need to.

I told my friend I'd try to write a blog about narwhals today, and I didn't, but I will soon, honest. I'm sorry.

Today's also February 7th, the anniversary of the first time I ever saw Imogen Heap live. Yes, I'm celebrating. I actually just found the stuff I wrote for the blog I had back then, but I'll post it some other time, because I'm tired and I have a sort-of essay to write before I go to sleep. Blogger won't let me copy and paste.

Goodnight. May pretty, magical narwhals dance around in your dreams.

- Lizzie xxx

Answering questions about yourself isn't vain...

Hello.
I wrote you all something fairly long a few days ago, so to make up for it, here's a sad excuse for a post made up of questions I found and answered, because I'm a teeny bit self indulgent and I like talking about myself, sometimes.
Enjoy. I know I did.
I'll make up for this at the weekend, swear.


First name?
Elizabeth.

Middle name?
Alice.

Do you ever wish you had another name?
I used to a lot.

Do you like anyone?
Myehhh.....

What's the best feeling in the world?
Listening to incredible music really loud, thinking you're in love and being all full of hope, being at a concert and all alive where everyone is feeling the same, or a combination of all those three. The first few bites of a roast dinner when you're really, really hungry.

Worst feeling?
Death, maybe?

How much cash do you have on you?
None, I'm in my bedroom.

What's a word that rhymes with "DOOR"?!
More!

Favourite planet?
Haven't been to many, it's pretty nice here on Earth, isn't it?

What kind of shoes are you wearing?
I'm not wearing any shoes. ;)

What were you doing at midnight last night?
Sitting around on my computer.

Favourite age you have been so far?
I've liked being fourteen. Eight was also a good year.

What shirt are you wearing?
Grey Imogen Heap t-shirt I bought from the RAH. It has birds on. I like it a lot. Last week I thought it was lost but my mum found it a few days ago, because she's awesome.

What are you listening to right now?
Oddly, complete silence. The last music I listened to was Kate Havnevik a few hours ago, and then some Imogen Heap before that.

What is your favourite number?
42.

What is the last thing you ate?
A chocolate coin.

How is the weather right now?
Nothing-y. It looks like it's pretty cold.

Who is the last person you talked to on the phone?
Poppy, my best friend.


Do you have a significant other?
No, I'm single and I live alone with my parents and my cats.

Favourite TV show?
Hustle!

Siblings?
No.

Height?
About 5"5?

Hair colour?
Brown.

Eye colour?
Blue-y grey-y green.

Do you wear contacts?
No.

Favourite holiday?
Christmas is good, though I'm getting to like New Year's Eve more.

Favourite month?
Depends. Last year it was November, because of Imogen Heap shows and all the writing I got to do. I'm starting to rely on actual events, instead of things like Christmas and birthdays for happiness.

Have you ever cried for no reason?
I have! The summer before this one I went to Florida with my parents, and one day had been out in the sun for a long time. When I got out of the bath, I was suddenly aware of how burnt I was. I kept going between being sweltering, sickeningly hot and freezing cold, to the point that I was shaking uncontrollably. All of the time my head ached and I felt as if my shoulders couldn't support it We were in a diner eating dinner and I was wearing a huge jumper and still felt like I was lying naked in snowicewatercoldness and I'm not that sure if it was how ill I felt or just nothing but I burst into tears and didn't stop for about forty minutes. Crazy.

What was the last movie you watched?
Rebecca (1970s version), just then. Adaptation isn't as good as the book.

Can you do a headstand (not using the wall)?
Hang on...
... no. I tried, I swear.

What books are you reading?
I'm reading "Neverwhere" by Neil Gaiman and so far, it's brilliant.

Piercings?
No. I'd like my ears done but have a fear of needles. (I just typed noodles instead of needles, wtf?)

What were you doing before this?
Watching Rebecca with my parents.

Butter, plain or salted popcorn?
Butter, please.

Dogs or cats?
Cats. I like dogs too, though.

Ever been caught doing something you weren't supposed to?
Probably.

Ever loved someone?
I could write an essay. But aside from parents, close friends and pets, I've decided probably not.

Ever fired a gun?
Only in Laser Tag.

Do you like travelling by plane?
I love flying.

Right-handed or left-handed?
Right. Trying to learn to be ampidexterous, because apparently that means if I have a stroke I won't lose the ability to speak. Yay.

How many pillows do you sleep with?
Four. But two are just decorative side pillows I tend to nudge away.

I feel sick and I want to moan somewhere and it's my blog and so I can if I want to >:(

So today I did basically nothing. I woke up at 11:15, and I was going to go out somewhere with my friends but then I didn't because I thought I should do some homework.
But I was in one of those moods where I felt like there was no reason to do anything, not really, and I actually couldn't write my essay. Even though I knew that it'd be less hard and less time consuming than I thought. So I got dressed and felt productive and I was going to make cookies, but I didn't. And instead I lolloped around on the internet and texted my friend for a while being all moany. I went on Youtube and learned how to play a Regina Spektor song on the piano.
Then my parents got home, and I ate dinner and realised it was getting pretty late and I should write my essay.
At about 5:30 I said 6 o clock.
At 6, I said 8.
I ended up starting at 10, finishing at 11.
That was okay. That's a good time to go to bed.
I went to bed and tried to read a book for a while and couldn't concentrate so I tried to sleep.
Except I was lying in bed and then I was worrying about stuff and that made my stomach hurt and that made me hungry and then I thought of something and googled the answer and now it's pretty late and I'm still here, on my computer for no reason.
MUH.

The good news is that I finished reading "The Kite Runner" (first book from the list) and I loved it lots. It was a brilliant story, it was unpredictable and the best thing about it was that the characters weren't perfect (I highlight that whenever it happens, after a fight with my English teacher about Atticus), they were human beings. And it made me realise that there are poverty and wars and shit in the world I live in, not just in history, and that we're really all quite dumb and unprogressive.

K then. Bye.

- Lizzie

Priorities, Nicci French Novels and Soul High Fives

Today somebody told me that I was being over-dramatic, and it scared me.

I'm pretty co-dependant in some ways, and I didn't realise it until recently. A lot of the time I'm around people, large groups of them, I get distressed and sulky and I shut myself off because I feel isolated or ignored or like I just don't really want to be there.
But I do like people. I like being alone with just one person, and usually any one person will do, because a one-to-one conversation is so much eassier to carry out that shouting and numerous topics and interruptions. If I get on well with somebody, to the point that conversation is so easy we're talking as we think things without encoding, it's like gold dust to me.* I met somebody a while ago who I was so similar to, and understood so well in some ways that it was as if they prodded through my intestines, set off wriggling motions in my stomach and high-fived my soul.

I also get attatched to objects and memories. M y drawers, my phone, my "C" drive are all full to the brim with things that I ignore and don't want to let go of. When I was a child I would stay up as late as I could the night after Christmas day because I didn't want it to end.

My French exchange partner has been so perfect and lovely over the last week she's been staying with me. We got on really well, her English is excellent and when I played her "I'll Be Your Man" (see last post) on the car radio she didn't ignore the music, like most people I play music to/at in cars, but she said she loved it and asked for the name of the song to write it down. On Thursday, I cried at random intervals throughout the day because I won't see her until March.
I felt pretty angry at my friend, who'd trotted into school at 12 o clock (we'd all had to be awake since 4am to drop the exchange students off, some had gone back home and spent the morning off school) and told me I was being over the top. But it was understandable. If it wasn't me, I would have quietly thought the same.

When my grandfather died, my mum called me; at the time, I was babysitting with my best friend.
"Grandpa George died," she told me, and the first thing I felt was guilt because I'd been talking cheerfully until then and then more guilt because I was surprised at just how much nothing I felt. I told Poppy, she hugged me, and I felt strange because I couldn't cry or feel or even think about it very much, at first.
Over the last year, exchange partners (German, then French) leaving have lead me into crying buckets but not deaths in the family, finding out the guy I thought I was in love with was in a relationship, even some really sad movies have possibly been more important but I never felt the same about any of those.
Apparently, I should sort my priorities out.

*Since last week's episode of The Apprentice, I've started using "gold dust" as a similie a lot. Forgive me.

___________________________________________________________

Again, that was a lot of self indulgent crap so I want to make up for it by talking about Nicci French.

Sean French and Nicci Gerrard are two ex journalists, I think, a married couple who write murder mystery novels and psychological thrillers under the joint penname Nicci French. As with a lot of books, I read "Losing You" on holiday because it was my mother's and I'd run out of my own books to read. It was brilliant, the twist in the ending was fantastic and I drank it all up within twenty four hours. I also read "Until It's Over", which I reaally liked and was beautifully written. it inspired me to want to write about roommates who were randomly thrown into living in a house together. And I did.
I was painfully disappointed when "Land of the Living" wasn't quite as good as the others, and now I think about it "What To Do When Someone Dies" was almost a waste of my time.

I don't know what the point to that was. You should give some Nicci French novels a try, especially if you like a story with a twist at the end - I do, and I was so shockingly delighted by "Losing You" that I think maybe my hopes were built up much too high by the time I read the others. But "Losing You" is absolutley excellent, and read some of their other books.
They're good. You'll like them.

five haikus

It's a Sunday night, I'm sat in bed and my cats are taking up all of the covers. Seeing as it's almost NaNo and I got an urge to start writing my novel - this is bad. I must wait until November. So, as my Nicorette patch, I decided to try and write some haikus.
They're pretty personal, and they're about various things. I like them. They're quick and fast and mean a lot and not much, they aren't very good but I'm proud of them for some reason. It's like when I talk to my friends very abstractly. I can say things without explanation, or certainty that anyone's listening.

Together, we walk
A motorway but stay between
Double yellow lines

I force each dose
By night, a self inflicted
Punch in the stomach

I am growing fat
Soon I'll burst out of these walls
And flop into Oz

To a pencil sketch
I add strokes of the rainbow
Until you glow gold

I beg for demand
But bat off all that you ask -
Flies on a hot day

I had a pretty mundane weekend. I did nothing at all today. Yesterday, I went out for lunch with my parents and it was in Trentham, so I bought some coffee syrup. I made myself a caramel latte when I got home. It didn't taste as good, because I knew it wasn't from Costa.
Exciting things are happening soon, though - this weekend I'm going to a family friend's flat in France with two of my best friends. The Friday after that, I go see Imogen Heap in Liverpool. A week later, I'll see her at the Royal Albert Hall, baby xD And NaNoWriMo is approaching. This is the few weeks I've looked forward to all year, and it's very nearly here and I'm happy.
Goodnight,
Lizzie xx

a day in the life of a "music snob"

"Music is worthless unless it can make a complete stranger break down and cry."

- Frou Frou, "The Dumbing Down Of Love"



I feel like I'm the only person in my life that feels like I do. About music, and words, and people and The World.

I doubt it sometimes but it's true. I am what the Windows Live homepage (it could have been Virgin Media, actually) once referred to as a "music snob"; they defined it as someone who has a very certain taste in music and is sort of arrogant to other suggestions.

I think I probably come across as being like that sometimes, but I'm going to defend myself. Here is why.

I am not un-open-minded.



When I was younger, I didn't like mainstream music very much but I didn't look much furthur, which is how I became a strange kind of twelve-year-old who carried round an iPod on which she'd listen to 80s rock music, along with Scouting For Girls and Paolo Nutini, at that time before they were popular.

It wasn't until about a year ago I started to find the true value of music, until I started listening to Imogen Heap who I found through the internet. Her music wasn't only wonderuful, but led me to a network of other alternative musicians, most of which are completley different to each other; I discovered IAMX, Amanda Palmer, Blue October, much more. Then there are others, various people have introduced me to, Beirut is a good example. Over the last year, I've bought about twenty physical CDs which I think probably a record for me. It doesn't seem like a lot.

Because I like my blog more than I'll admit and I have too much time on my hands, I even drew a diagram with Paint to show this.






The other thing it did was turn me away from mainstream music completley. I don't hate Justin Bieber and Cheryl Cole and Britney and The Wanted, I just don't like them. A lot. It annoys me that I can't get away from listening to all of this. I'm made to acknowledge Top 40s style music every day, it gets played on the radio stations my parents listen to and on people's phones at school or whilst I'm waiting for my Subway sandwich, it's in everyone's Facebook status. Most people I know haven't heard of any of the above in their lives, and that makes me angry.

The thing that's brought this on is a coversation I was having (which turned into a joking type fight, which turned into a really huge and very real fight, which turned into us both hugging and crying because we're teenage girls) with my best friend yesterday in which she told me she'd decided Beyonce was the best singer, ever.

I felt pretty betrayed. Poppy is an Imogen Heap fan, she goes to shows with me and a lot of the time likes a lot of the music I like - I didn't realise until yesterday that she's the only person I know that does like the music I do, that's non Internet-wise. She also listens to things like Plan B, though, she likes Eminem and pretty much everything that the cast of Glee cover. It makes me sad that my friends and I will never like the same kind of music; we went bowling quite recently, and I have a distinct memory of sitting eating chips whilst they were all singing along to the song Billionaire. I knew I'd made the right choice, that the week's number one hit would never make them cry late at night, that they would never find anything that made them feel in "eh eh eh eh eh eh eh eh eh eh eh, stop telephonin' me", find that five second point in a really well produced song that actually makes a lump in your chest rise, see a live show as good as the ones I've been to, but it felt lonely and it makes me sad, sometimes.
Whoever is in between their earphones spent a fortnight singing in a recording studio, not two and a bit years writing, producing and playing every single instrument on an album.

I know I'm right. But sometimes I feel like I everyone else to.

I lost control. (sorry, contains talking about myself)

You've got me all mixed up inside,
These thoughts keep entering my mind,
I know these struggles all too well,
Guess I'm just one to kiss and tell
-Back Ted N-Ted, "The Mirror"

So. I did something stupid the other day.
If you’ve read this closely, or maybe even at all, you might have tried to guess but I haven’t done what you think. That would be more stupid. The other ironic thing would be that not even someone that read my blog would have thought of what I was thinking of then at all. Anyways.
A while ago, I went through an odd stage where I thought I was in love and around four months later, meaning now, I reached the point where I decided I’d tell my friends, or maybe just one of them, because it’s what teenage girls do. I’m not the sort of person that tells my friends everything I feel, just everything but this.

The situation it came out wasn’t really ideal, my friend and I were in a crowded place outside the canteen when she exclaimed, “Oh my God, it’s -insertnamehere-!”.
Her sister, Jemima, two years younger than us, had no idea what was going on but was passing and yelled, "-insertnamehere-!"
Rosie looked at me and her eyes lit up a little. "Wait, I know who -insertnamehere- is! Omigosh, what happened?!"
And then various more complex rumours began to circulate round the group of about ten of us, like gossip does. It's the kind I'd never been the subject of before, and I probably should have known it would happen. It was an experiment, and I didn't like it much. Lucky, none of them will have an oppurtunity to tell -insertnamehere-.
Now things are a mess. Over the last two days, it's developed and no-one understands, several people are mad at me because they feel like I owe them some kind of explanation for things that aren't to do with them. But I know how they feel.

I didn't think I'd feel like this. I thought I'd maybe just tell my best friend, who I should tell if anyone, and have time and space to explain it thoroughly and maybe cry a little and I'd feel better. That's not how it worked out. Suddenly everyone thinks things are a lot bigger than they area. My friendship group is dealing with bulimia and light sexual harrassment at the moment; it seemed like the time to tell someone my big thing. Now people think I'm pregnant and all sorts of things.

That's the only time I'll involve myself with teenagegirlytype behavior. I've learnt my lesson now, and I definitely won't use song lyrics to talk about my feelings because it's super-lame. There won't be blog posts like this again. Or situations I hope.

Goodnight xx

When Things Go Wrong: a letter to my 20 year old self

Dear Lizzie,

Is that still your name anymore? So far I've been a Beth, an Elizabeth, a Lizzie and recently I've been thinking of becoming a Beth again, when I leave school and appear somewhere where I can change my name because people don't know me, but it's easier to become something else when you're five, and there aren't twitter accounts or organ donor cards or email addresses.
I have so many things to ask you.
Do you have a job? I'm guessing you're maybe still at university in the last year, but it depends how long you're doing what it takes to do whatever you've decided to do. That was a mouthful, even though I typed it.
I feel oddly sheepish writing to you, because you're a grown woman and clearly, I am not. I don't completley like the taste of coffee yet, I still worry about things like my hair for longer than I will have to when I'm you, and I've not done half the awesome things that I hope we're going to.
I'm scared to think too much about what you do. It's because I honestly don't know how things are going to turn out - I think I'm not naive enough to believe I'll ever be a writer, not in the way that people like Neil Gaiman are, because right now I don't have the concentration, and spend time worrying about the future, I think, amoungst other things.
Are there really complex iPhones now, and do you have one? That would be awesome. Do you not get spots any more? What colour is your duvet sheet? Where do you live? Are you in contact with all your extended family, cousins and stuffs? Is anyone dead that's alive now, did any of your friends from school marry and have children? 20's young, I know, but it happens.
According to a mock Wikipedia page I wrote about by 32 year old self (a rainy day), by 2018 Guitar Heroes or whatever it'll be called should be pretty succesful, and you should have left university and living in London, in a flat with Poppy for a while, with maybe a cat, drinking a lot of Costa and on the brink of being published and wonderful, a novel that's yet to exist or be thought about much. Something in my mind says that somewhere, this is being read by a scruffy, overweight budding accountant/Tesco employee, blushing in a bedsit, but I have no idea what I can achieve. Something in the middle, at least.
I'm publishing this to my blog which no-one reads, so I don't want to use names, but there's someone who's only a small part in your life right now who you (I should say I) think about a lot and won't be involved with until you're/I'm/we're at least thirty, according to the Wikipedia page, but it felt like something I should mention. I'm sure it won't happen. He is far away and unlikely. Still, an important chapter of the stuff I think about right now.
Are you still in contact with any friends from school? Poppy, I hope, and Becky and Emily Rhodes. Maybe Kathryn. Possibly even Alison, I don't know why. Emily-Marie will make an effort. Of the others, I'm doubtful. I hope that high school won't seem as big a deal as it does now to you.
There should be something to summarize, because I need to go to bed now, but as usual, there's no point for me to make. I'm talking about things I don't understand, but please do something useful, or that I'd want. I'll remember what I was like now then, when I'm you. Remember all of the things I thought I wanted to do, and the Wikipedia page of hopefullnes.
I have to wake up at 06:30 tomorrow, to finish my Media Studies homework.

Lizzie